Departure
by bleargh
Summary: The mother of all AUs. Seriously. Tells FotR in a Middle-Earth a little different from the one we're used to playing in... (Sam/Frodo, Merry/Pippin, Aragorn/Legolas)
1. Default Chapter

TITLE: "Departure" (1/1)  
AUTHOR: Marie-Claude Danis  
EMAIL: mc@fangy.net  
RATING: R for language  
PAIRING: Frodo/Sam  
SUMMARY: The mother of all AUs. Seriously. Tells the beginning of FotR in a Middle-Earth a little different from the one we're used to playing in. One that's a whole lot like our own little world, in fact.  
NOTE: Thanks to Alex and Zoe for their input, and to Nikki for her invaluable beta-luv.  
  
* * *  
  
  
  
  
"Bags."  
  
Nothing. The sound of cars, maybe, several floor down, muffled by the thick window, the cooing of pigeons on the ledge. Other than that, nothing.  
  
"BAGS."  
  
Frodo Baggins groaned and clutched the pillow over his head, trying his best to stifle the throbbing in his skull. "What..."  
  
Sam studied the naked figure sprawled face-first on the bed, and took a quiet sip of his coffee. "Get up."  
  
"No."  
  
Sam kicked him in the hip. "Up, I said."  
  
A hand snaked out from under the pillow and flipped him off blindly. "Fuck off, Gamgee."  
  
"Look, the place is a mess. Everyone's gone, and I'm pretty sure some of them took stuff with them. I made coffee, there's eggs, I found bacon, and I'm not waiting for you to dig in."  
  
At that, Frodo raised his head and looked up wearily, his hair frizzing out in every which way, and quite frankly looking like shit. "Trashed?"  
  
Sam snorted. "Quite."  
  
Another groan. "Great." He plopped back down and flipped on his back, scratching his stomach.   
  
Sam took in the view. "You look terrible."  
  
"I feel terrible." He looked up at Sam suspiciously, annoyed. "Why are you so... *peppy*."  
  
"I'm a morning person."  
  
"You're wearing my boxers."  
  
"So I am," he responded offhandedly, exiting the bright loft room.   
  
Frodo stared at the unfinished ceiling several feet above him and tried to remember the previous night. The part before he'd dragged Sam to bed was particularly hard to remember. He seemed to recall loud music and many people he didn't like. He did not look forward to the clean up. Perhaps he'd just call the maid to have her come earlier.  
  
"UP!"  
  
"I'm coming! Jeez!"  
  
Frodo threw on a pair of jeans and padded out of his bedroom and into the rest of the loft. Just looking at the mess made him nauseous, although he supposed it could've been something else, too, if the pounding behind his eye was any indication.  
  
He joined Sam at the kitchen counter. "Where's Bilbo?"  
  
Sam threw him an amused look. "You don't remember?"  
  
"I don't remember what?"  
  
"Your brother left. Said goodbye last night, during the party. You were right there!"  
  
Frodo rubbed at his temple. "Christ. What happened to switching my drinks to 7ups at 3am?"  
  
"I got distracted."  
  
"Clearly."  
  
"Here, have some OJ."  
  
Frodo grabbed the glass Sam was holding up and downed it in two large gulps. The tangy sweetness felt good on his tongue and got rid of the pasty taste. Next to him, Sam held up a sizzling frying pan and the fork he'd been using to flip the strips of fatty pork.  
  
"Bacon and eggs. The cure for any hangover."  
  
Frodo crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the fridge next to him. "You're such a girl. I love you."  
  
"I am far too good to you, my friend. As demonstrated by last night's, um, 'festivities', where I forfeited all of my poker winnings for a roll in the sack with Mr. Frodo Baggins, most eligible bachelor under 35 in the Shire, and perhaps beyond." He punctuated his statement with a quick bite of Frodo's bottom lip.  
  
Frodo grabbed the back of his friend's head while he had the chance. "I know of a better cure than eggs and bacon..."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Yes. It involves me getting my boxers back while you-- OW!"  
  
"Fuck! Sorry!"   
  
Sam threw the hot pan back onto the grill. A red spot appeared where the pan had come in contact with Frodo's stomach.  
  
"Thanks a lot, Samwise."  
  
"You can't go telling lewd tales while I'm cooking!"  
  
"Yeah. God knows you can't chew gum while you walk either," Frodo muttered, wandering out of the kitchen area, a hand to his stomach. He winced, both at the pain and the sight before him. Yup, that would take a while to clean.  
  
He walked to a closed door and pushed it open to peek inside the second bedroom. "Yup, bastard's gone. Did he say how long he'd be?"  
  
Sam looked at him uneasily from the tiled area. "Um, Frodo?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"He's gone. As in, for good. Not coming back."  
  
"WHAT?"  
  
"He took off! Took a few things, most of his things, and just left. He's not coming back, Bags."  
  
Frodo stood there, dumbstruck. His brother took off. His pal, his partner in crime, the only family he had. Left him. For good.   
  
"Why... Why did he leave? Where did he go? Did he leave a number? An address?"  
  
Sam looked sad, his voice soft and apologetic. "I'm sorry..."   
  
Frodo felt as though the floor, the whole fucking WORLD tilted under him. Left him. Left him. LEFT HIM. Without saying goodbye. No way to find him. He felt like sitting down and crying like a little girl.  
  
"He left this."  
  
Frodo spotted the shoebox Sam motioned at. It sat primly on the counter, white and nondescript. One lousy shoebox. Whatever its content was, it wouldn't make up for everything he was taking away with him.  
  
He forced himself to cross the messy room back to the counter. Sam silently pushed the small box to him, sliding it on the slick surface until it sat in front of his friend. Frodo stared at the lid. Opening it was the last thing he wanted to do.  
  
"He said to give it to you when you were sober."  
  
"So nice of him," came Frodo's angry response, but his voice shook with choked sorrow. He flipped the lid open, letting it clatter on the counter.   
  
Inside, papers. He had gone and left behind him a trail of papers leading nowhere. The loft's paperwork, the cars' licenses, bad sketches of a younger Bilbo that Frodo had done when he was a kid. He went through the rest - all as trivial or heart-wrenching - but didn't find what he had hoped to find. A letter. For him, for right now.   
  
"You okay Bags?" came Sam's concerned voice.  
  
"Yeah..." No.  
  
"There's something else... He wanted to make sure this would get right in your hands."  
  
Frodo looked up, hopeful. Sam held up a small white envelope. He ripped it out of his hand and tore it open. No letter. Instead, a small golden thing nestled in the corner of the envelope. Frodo retrieved it with two fingers and held it up. What the...?  
  
Sam walked to him, but Frodo couldn't tear his eyes from the small ring.   
  
"What is it?"  
  
"Dunno."  
  
"Your parents', maybe?"  
  
Frodo shook his head. "No."  
  
"Why would Bilbo leave you a ring?"  
  
"I... I don't know." Suddenly he felt angry. He tossed both the envelope and the ring onto the counter. "A ring. A fucking ring. He goes and leaves me a ring. I didn't know he cared so much." His voice dripped with uneasy sarcasm.  
  
The sound of a ringing cellphone came to them faintly from somewhere in Frodo's bedroom. Frodo found the thing buried underneath his bedspread, which had been kicked off the bed sometime during the night, probably by Sam, who always seemed to be hot. He was relieved when he saw the 'G. Grey' spelled out on the greenish display.  
  
"Hey Gandalf."  
  
"Morning, Bags. How did last night go?"  
  
"Swimmingly." He made his way back into the kitchen. He noticed Sam had put everything back in the box and had closed it. The ring sat on the lid. Sam busied himself at the grill, putting on fresh strips of bacon. Frodo sat on a stool at the counter. "Too bad you couldn't make it."  
  
"Yeah, listen... Did Bilbo leave you anything?"  
  
"Leave me anything?! YOU KNEW HE WAS LEAVING?"  
  
"Frodo--"  
  
"Why didn't you say anything to me!"   
  
"It wasn't any of my business."  
  
"LISTEN TO ME. My brother left me without so much as a goodbye. He left me a fucking RING." Frodo heard what sounded like something breaking on Gandalf's end. "Gandalf?"  
  
"You gotta get out of there."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Take the ring, your wallet, and get out of there."  
  
Frodo looked at Sam, puzzled by Gandalf's reaction. "Why? Because of the ring?"   
  
He picked it up and inspected it closely. It didn't seem out of the ordinary, just a plain gold band.   
  
Sam mouthed 'what's going on?'. Frodo shrugged.  
  
"Baggins, listen to me. That ring has killed many men. Your brother had to get rid of it or it would've gotten him too. Don't put it on, just bring it with you. Right now. Meet me at the Prancing Pony in two hours."  
  
"In Bree? Why so far? Where are you?"  
  
"Two hours, Frodo."  
  
Frodo shivered at the tone of the older man's voice. "Alright. I'm bringing Sam."  
  
"Fine. Be careful, the two of you. I'm not kidding about this."  
  
"Gandalf... what's going on?"  
  
"I'll explain when we get there. Move." The connection clicked off and Frodo stared at his phone for a full ten seconds.  
  
Sam wandered into the room. "What was that about?"  
  
"Gandalf. Something about the ring." He was suddenly very anxious to get out. "We gotta get out of here." He ran to his closet and yanked a shirt out, putting it on as he rummaged through the mess on his dresser for his wallet and car keys.  
  
Sam put on the clothes he'd been wearing the night before. He zipped tattered cords over Frodo's boxers and located his sneakers across the room. "Where're we going?"  
  
"Bree."  
  
"*Bree*?"  
  
"Yeah. We gotta hurry."  
  
"What's in Bree?"  
  
Frodo ran by him and back into the kitchen, shoving the ring into his jean pocket. "Gandalf. And hopefully, answers."  
  
  
  
END 


	2. (2/?)

TITLE: "Departure" (2/?)  
AUTHOR: Marie-Claude Danis  
EMAIL: mc@fangy.net  
SITE: http://fangy.net/lotr  
ARCHIVE: List archives, otherwise just ask.  
RATING: R  
PAIRINGS: Frodo/Sam, Merry/Pippin, Aragorn/Legolas.  
SUMMARY: A modern AU. Tells FotR in a Middle-Earth a little different from the one we're used to playing in.  
  
This was going to be a one-parter. But youse guys are relentless, and generally very nice, so here you go. Feedback is, as always, devoured.  
  
* * *  
  
  
  
Bagshot Row lay like a ribbon dividing the town in two; the bad neighbourhood, with its decrepit stores and its aging population, and the more glamourous parts, where book stores, stylish inns and art galleries stood elbow to elbow, the pride of the Hobbiton residents. Neither passé nor chic, the Row sat on the fence, leasing its properties mostly to middle-class hipsters who knew how to make the most of very little. Coffeehouses and used record stores lined the narrow sidewalk, peppered with bistros with full terraces and colourful thrift stores. In the East end of Bagshot Row was the Brockhouse cinema, which showed small films only college students and pretentious artiste-types wanted to see.  
  
And in front of it sat the Bag End building, an old brick-and-stone thing painted a dull shade of seafoam years ago, the paint peeling at all the expected places. It stood proudly, three stories high, and housed recently renovated lofts, mostly leased to well-off youths who wouldn't be caught dead living in the good neighbourhood. Its tall uncurtained windows streamed in daylight and at night the ones facing the front of the building would also let in the pink glow of the theatre's flickering neon sign. Above the lobby doors, metal script letters spelled out 'Bag End', something one could guess might've made the whole thing look a little snazzy at the time.  
  
Frodo leaned over the steering wheel of his car and stared at the brick monster through the windshield, squinting at the harsh grey of the morning light. Next to him, Sam squirmed in seat.   
  
"Well?"  
  
"Hold on..."  
  
"Weren't we in a hurry? Because if I'm risking me life being nostalgic at an old building, well, actually, I'd rather not."  
  
Frodo tore his eyes away from the rusting script letters and turned the key in the ignition. The Mustang awoke loudly. "Alright, christ, keep your pants on..."  
  
"I'm just saying..."  
  
"Those *are* your pants, right?"  
  
"Actually..."  
  
"Do you have any clothes of your own?"  
  
"The rumours deny it."  
  
"I just don't want any jokes about me wanting to get into my own pants."  
  
"Aw, not fair. I was saving that one for later."  
  
The pavement scraped the bottom of the car as they backed out of the parking lot and into the street, as it always did. Frodo shifted up to third and floored it; the car hiccuped and grunted forward reluctantly.  
  
"Shit."  
  
"You know what's funny about the cars nowadays - damn things require *gas* to run properly."  
  
"There's a station at Weaverly. We can, y'know, coast there."  
  
"Good thing we're not in a hurry or anything."  
  
Frodo tried for a glare but met Sam's eyes with a stifled grin instead. As aggravated as he felt leaving Bag End for god-knows-what, he was glad he'd brought Sam and his snark along. As a rule, he was good to have around on trips. Frodo didn't want to try and imagine how far from the norm this particular outting would turn out to be.  
  
The car, as planned, did make it to Weaverly, and Sam filled 'er up as Frodo hurried to the store to pay. A small bell jingled as he opened the door, and the young man at the counter barely looked up from his mini television to greet his only customer. Frodo turned to see if Sam was done filling up the tank, and reached blindly into his back pocket to retrieve his wallet - only to be knocked over as someone ran square into him, squeaking loudly as they tumbled to the floor.  
  
"FUCK."  
  
"Hey, watch it, asshole!"  
  
"Bags!"  
  
"Pippin!?"  
  
Frodo shoved the dead weight off of him and sat up on the dirty linoleum, pawing at the hair that fell into his eyes. The teen smiled up at him from a scattered mess of car fresheners and Little Debbie cakes, sporting an unruly head of curls and an obnoxiously loud t-shirt promoting 25-cent peep shows.  
  
"Heya Bags. Long time no see!"  
  
"I saw you last night, Pip," Frodo groaned, rubbing the back of his head where a lump was sure to grow shortly.  
  
"Right. Merry and I, we were just--"  
  
"Are you lifting again? Because if you're lifting again..." He trailed off as a slightly older young man, his face hidden by similar but blonder curls and yellow-tinted sunglasses, skidded to a frantic stop behind Pippin.   
  
"Ugh! PIPPIN. What did you DO! Oh hey Bags."  
  
"Merry."  
  
This is when the clerk decided to look up and notice his fine establishment was being pilfered. "HEY!"  
  
Pippin's eyes went wide, his smile giving way to a terrified expression. "Uh oh."  
  
"Shit." Merry yanked Pippin up by the jacket, grabbing Frodo on the way, and made for the exit.  
  
"Wait! I gotta pay for--"  
  
"NO TIME."  
  
He was shoved through the double doors and stumbled onto the sunny pavement, crashing right into Sam.  
  
"What the--"  
  
"Merry, it's Sam! Hi Sam!"  
  
"Pippin? Merry!"  
  
"GET IN THE FUCKING CAR!"  
  
Frodo ran to the driver's side as fast as his legs could carry him. Merry tossed Pippin into the backseat head-first, diving in right after him. Sam pushed the seat back, cramming the younger men copiously into the less-than-spacious backseat.  
  
"Ow!"  
  
"You're on my arm!"  
  
"I can't close the door if your leg is sticking out!"  
  
Limbs were pulled in, doors were slammed, and the car roared to life. They peeled off in a sputter of gravel and dust before merging messily into heavy traffic. A cacophony of horns and slammed breaks swallowed them; Frodo clutched at the wheel with both hands, swerving between protesting vehicles until they were several hundred feet away, careening down the fast lane.  
  
"WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT."  
  
Merry was nervously peering out of the back window for any possible sign of the gas station clerk. Pippin just sat there, inspecting the car's upholstery.  
  
"Nice ride, Bags! New?"  
  
Frodo grinded his teeth, summoning the patience he always needed when dealing with those two. "Peregrin. Listen to me. Were you guys lifting?"  
  
Frodo saw Pippin pout in his rearview mirror, picking distractedly at his jeans. "Yeah. But then you walked right into me and I lost everything. AND got caught. Not cool, Bags."  
  
"Pippin! You CAN'T... you... Argh." Frodo gave up. "Why *car fresheners*?"   
  
Pippin shrugged, already bored with the conversation.  
  
But Frodo knew the answer. Because they were easy. Because they were small and light and flat and easy to pocket. Because Pippin, however enthusiastic, was still a novice, still learning, dying to please his mentor, wanting more than anything else to be every bit as good as Merry. He had a long way to go.   
  
Merry finally sat back, a satisfied but serious look on his face, as per usual. Frodo eyed him suspiciously, his attention divided between traffic and his view of the backseat.  
  
"Merry..." he scowled.  
  
His cousin looked up but only stared at his reflection, expression still blank. Frodo couldn't remember when was the last time he'd seen the younger man's eyes.  
  
"I just saved your ass, man. Fess up."  
  
Merry stared in his general direction for a moment more then reached up and unzipped his jacket, a sea of stolen trinkets tumbling down into his lap and at their feet.  
  
Pippin's eyes went wide, a look of giddy reverence plastered on his face. "WHOA!"  
  
Sam turned around, whistling at the sight of the bountiful loot. "Nice."  
  
Frodo whacked him on the shoulder with little conviction. "Don't encourage them."  
  
"But... Turkish Delight!" Sam brandished the chocolate bar at him. "You're no fun."  
  
  
  
TBC 


	3. (3/?)

TITLE: "Departure" (3/?)  
AUTHOR: mcee (mcee@fangy.net)  
SITE: http://fangy.net/lotr  
ARCHIVE: List archives, others just ask.  
RATING: R  
PAIRING: Frodo/Sam, Merry/Pippin (soon: Aragorn/Legolas)  
SUMMARY: The AU continues with part 3, in which our heroes get to Bree.  
THANKS: To Alex and MJ! *mwah*  
  
Apologies for the wait. Previous chapters may be found here:  
http://fangy.net/lotr/departure.txt  
  
* * *  
  
  
  
"So help me god, Meriadoc, you kick my seat one more time and I'm tossing you out through the vent holes."  
  
Frodo saw in the rearview mirrow the face (a mere twitch of the mouth, really) Merry made at Sam, who glowered back at him before slumping down into his seat and eyeing the speeding scenery with a sulky pout. Merry calmly flipped him off and propped his elbow against the window, nudging Sam's seat forcefully with his knee. Next to him, Pippin snored, coiled onto himself and looking deceptively angelic with his open mouth and the thin gold lashes fanned evenly on his pink cheeks.   
  
Wondering if this was what cabin fever felt like, Frodo tightened his grip on the steering wheel. He watched with barely contained glee as the bright 'Downtown Bree: next 8 exits' sign zoomed by. "Almost there, boys..."  
  
Merry squinted up at the metropolis' skyline reflecting off his glasses and sparkling against the grey midday sky. "Huh. Bree. Hey Pip." He blindly smacked the sleeping boy next to him, who snapped awake with a snort.  
  
"Huh? What!"  
  
"Lookit. Bree."  
  
It had been a while since they had been to the city. Aside from Merry (and, by default, Pippin), who had more than a passing knowledge of the Shire's club circuit, the Hobbiton people were generally happy holing up in their quirky little suburb, without much care for the metropolitan chunk of lights and metal and cement glittering alluringly North-East of them. As this particular carfull zoomed down the widening highway, the city enveloped them quickly, almost sucking them in, drawing them into its very heart through its throbbing arteries. Traffic changed from lazy speed to reckless hurry, and the cars seemed flashier, angrier, more colourful, even though they were the same cars that had sluggishly strolled down the highway along with them.  
  
  
Even in the daylight it seemed as though they were entering a different world, one bigger, harsher, ahead of its time, delightfully anonymous. Things passed them by without even sparing a glance their way; buildings loomed over their heads, lights blinded indiscriminately. It was a bit brash, too, a bit vulgar, a bit risqué. The big ol' town, the city, the metropolis, and all roads led to it.  
  
Merry licked his lips distractedly and was jostled closer to the mud-splattered window by Pippin, who suddenly felt very much awake. Patterns of lights and shadows skipped over their faces and they looked up up up as the Mustang rolled to a quiet stop at a red light.  
  
Sam cleared his throat to break the heavy silence that had befallen the four. "So. Bree. What now."  
  
Frodo reached down to feel the circular bump of the ring in his jeans pocket. "Merry, where's the Prancing Pony again?"  
  
"58th and Wellesley. Follow York till you hit 59th--it's a one-way down and Wellesley always has construction."  
  
"Right." Frodo rolled down his window, letting in air laced with the bracing smell of exhaust, and signaled out of the turning lane.  
  
Sam turned around and looked at Pippin, who was still stretched across Merry's lap to look out the window, this time at the passing pedestrians (his side didn't have pedestrians). "Think you can get in the Pony, Pip?"  
  
Pippin shot Sam an impatient look. "Of course I can get in."  
  
"His ID's pretty good," Merry provided distractedly, not moving a muscle to dislodge Pippin.  
  
Sam narrowed his eyes and held out a hand. "Let's see it."  
  
Merry yanked a beaten wallet from Pippin's back pocket (conveniently at eye-level) and produced the card, which he flipped into Sam's hand. Sam brought it to his face, turning it around between his fingers. A tiny picture of Pippin stared back at him sternly, looking, by some miracle, a good ten years older. Large grey letters in the background spelled 'LORIEN'. Over it, smaller black print detailed a street address in the swanky suburb, as well as Pippin's cheated specs.  
  
Sam snorted. "You, from Lorien. Right, Pip."  
  
"Could happen..." Pippin protested weakly.  
  
"In what *world*."  
  
"Shut up."  
  
"How did you do this?"  
  
Pippin sat back on his heels with a smug smile, an elbow resting on Merry's shoulder. "Child's play."  
  
"Literally..." Sam muttered before getting the card snatched back from his hand with a huff.   
  
Pippin stuffed it back into his pocket then moved to straddle Merry, thin fingers removing Merry's shades casually. "I'll have you know, Samwise Gamgee, that I'm useful for *some* things."  
  
"I can think of a few right this second..." Merry muttered, grinning against Pippin's nuzzling face. His fingers threaded through the belt loops riding a bit too low on Pippin's hips.  
  
Frodo glanced in the rearview mirror and made a face. "Ugh. Guys, I just got the car cleaned. Cut it out."  
  
"It's these damn sportscars," Merry tried in between whatever his lips were doing (what, they didn't want to know). "Backseat is so small, we're practically sitting on top of each other."  
  
Pippin rearranged himself in Merry's lap and Merry grunted against his mouth, slumping into the seat. Sam was propelled forward once again, his hand shooting out and connecting with the dashboard forcefully.  
  
"Fucking hell--Do you MIND?"  
  
"No no, not at all," came Pippin's slurped response.   
  
Frodo chuckled, eyes resolutely glued on the traffic around them. Sam muttered. "I hear the sound of one zipper and you're both WALKING up York."  
  
  
***  
TBC [Part 4: The Prancing Pony and Aragorn. Ooooh.] 


End file.
